Poet Adrienne Rich wrote, 

“No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees
Sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air
Dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding
Our animal passion rooted in the city.” 

In this project I am looking at the narrative that says age destroys beauty and is especially cruel to women. The carefully crafted “imagined” and “us” that Rich presents serve as entrance ramps to the personal and the universal. Meaningful to me, applicable to many. I am unwilling to relegate myself to the past tense. I am – STILL — a sensual being, and I have wisdom and experience and self-appreciation. Yet, in the whir and buzz and brrrrring and ping and pong of our device-driven, youth-obsessed, influencer-crazed society, few might imagine I feel this way.

Small interventions of repair and reconstruction serve as text. The various “constructions” with thread can be read as language, poetic rather than prosaic in nature.  Like dance notation.